


love & other simple things

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon, Artist Stiles, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Knitting, M/M, Police Officer Derek, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Derek didn't know about Stiles, and one thing he knew better than anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love & other simple things

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Paramore's [Part II](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45Xzgma4LMk), which always gives me Stiles vibes. Which is cool because it's the sequel of Let The Flames Begin, and that always gave me Derek vibes.
> 
> Unbeta'd, and I'm a total zombie right now so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to call me out on them! Same goes with tags. I'm lame.

 

# 1.

Stiles was shivering in the driver’s seat when Derek climbed into the Jeep. Derek watched him pull down the visor and peer into the mirror, ruffling his hair with a hand, pink fingertips poking out from the fingerless gloves pulled over his knuckles. His breath puffed out of him in clouds of fog in the December morning.

“Cold?” Derek asked, fastening his belt (he didn’t need it, but Stiles’ licence did).

“It’s winter,” Stiles hummed, reached over to search around in the glove compartment, “Shouldn’t you be hibernating?”

“That’s bears,” Derek said, nonplussed, and he waited for Stiles to be ready to go. Time and experience had taught him that Stiles responded a lot better to requests when he was not being pushed. And Derek didn’t really like being forceful anyway, not anymore.

Stiles sat back, holding in his hand a _Chapstick_ of all things, smoothing it over the bow of his upper lip with one hand, while he started the ignition with the other. He slicked up his lower lip as he pulled the Jeep out into the empty street and managed to recap the Chapstick whilst returning both hands to the wheel.

Derek _might_ have been staring.

Stiles regarded him from the corner of his eye, and then gazed back at the road again, careful on the glossy morning road.

“Winter hates my mouth, man,” he said, “Always keep one of these with me.”

Derek felt his stomach twinge, “Uh.”

“I don’t suppose yours would get chapped. Yours would heal before—eh, perks I guess. Bet you don’t get cold sores either.”

Derek nodded his head in agreement. He’d never really thought about that.

“Me, I have to _work_ to stay flawless,” Stiles quipped, and Derek snorted, smiling good naturedly at him. Stiles radiated contentedness, despite the cold and his shivering, and Derek found that it was a good place to drop the conversation without seeming rude. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk, but he got the feeling that it was entirely too early for either of them to keep up the dialogue.

Derek was going to be visiting Cora for her Christmas break and didn’t want to leave his car in the long-term parking lot at the airport, so he’d commissioned Stiles for the journey. Commissioned, meaning he promised and abundance of cheesy souvenirs upon his return – and when did that happen, when did he become companionable enough with Stiles to warrant souvenirs when he went on trips? He didn’t know, but he was glad it had happened somewhere along the way.

Stiles pulled up at the drop-off point. It was still early, not many people were around, so Derek lingered in the passenger seat for just a little longer than he probably should have.

“Thanks,” he said, after a moment, reaching back to grab his duffel from the back seat. Stiles hadn’t said anything about the bag. No exclamation of surprise, no ‘ _Derek! You have enough belongings to fill a suitcase?’_ or anything. And it was nice. Stiles knew him better now, made no comment.

Instead, Stiles said, “Give Cora my love and stuff,” shuddering against the burst of cold air as Derek opened the door and slid out of the Jeep.

“Will do.”

“You come back in one piece.”

Derek placed a hand on top of the Jeep and peered into the cab. His eyes took in the sight of Stiles, relaxed in his seat, bundled up in layers upon layers, all sleepy eyed and red-mouthed _flawlessness_. He smiled before he could help himself.

“You keep up the good work.”

Stiles looked as surprised as he felt.

 

 

# 2.

Derek thought it was blood at first- red and bright, dusting the tips of Stiles’ fingers- and then he saw the turquoise that accompanied it, and he faltered. It didn’t smell like blood, either, it smelled like-

“Paint?”

Stiles startled, and looked down at his hands almost guiltily. Isaac and Scott, who’d been playing cards on the floor, looked up curiously.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, eventually, “I, uh, I paint.”

The skip in Stiles’ heartbeat wasn’t a lie, just a hint of uneasiness, so Derek let the subject go. Three nights later he was knocking at the Stilinski house, looking for the Sheriff, when Stiles answered the door in a ruined (previously-white) t-shirt.

The sight of Derek seemed to take him aback.

“Did you just- you _knocked_ on the _door_? What-”

“I’m looking for your dad,” Derek explained, “Is he-”

“He’s gonna be a little late coming home, he’s picking up food because I didn’t want to cook. I was- I was busy.”

“Ah,” Derek said, taking a step back from the door. He was curious, which was generally a recurring theme when it came to him and Stiles, but he didn’t want to intrude. “I just- it’s not urgent. I’ll call later.”

Stiles looked hesitant, before saying, “You can, uh, hang around. Have some food with us?”

The words weren’t said, but Derek knew why Stiles was offering. Isaac, Scott, Allison- everyone went back to school after the weekend they’d spent at home in Beacon Hills for the New Year. College was tough on the pack, but Derek liked to think they were now stronger than ever. It would be hard to accept Scott as his alpha, Derek didn’t even really think he ever could even after all those years, but regardless of that Scott was a far better alpha than Derek could have ever been.

Derek hung his jacket up in the hall and toed off his shoes by the door, following Stiles up the stairs in his socks.

“Painting?” he asked, and the back of Stiles’ neck flushed brilliantly.

“Yeah,” he muttered and then, looking a little uneasy, said, “Uh, I can show you-”

“Only if you want to.”

Stiles looked like it was the hardest damn decision he’d ever have to make (which was kind of laughable really) and then nodded, and Derek followed him into his bedroom.

Once upon a time, not long ago, the walls of Stiles’ room had been lined and layered with mug-shots and police reports, thick lines of yarn, and the entire right half of the room held an atmosphere of severe seriousness. Scott had called it Stiles’ _office_.

Now the walls were covered in pieces of sketch paper, ink drawings, swatches of colour. Everything screamed disorganisation. Derek felt that at the same time it faultlessly _and_ faultily portrayed everything that Stiles was. And oxymoron in itself. Chaos and calm.

There were watercolour paintings pinned up on the wall – oceans, wave tendrils of surf swallowing little bodies, dark acrylic forests and shining silver discuses of light. Derek finally remembered to take a breath when Stiles explained, “It’s how I’m coping.”

 _With my darkness_ , he didn’t have to add. Derek knew, and nodded, smiling.

“I didn’t know you could paint. Didn’t know you could- draw.”

“Dad was the analytical brain in the family, Mom was an art teacher. I guess after she died-” (Stiles talked more candidly about his mother now, with Derek. Derek loved that.) “-I didn’t feel so motivated anymore. I still took Art as a subject in school but I just… stopped. This seemed like a good time to start again.”

An unfinished canvas on a stand showed a pair of pale hands on a turquoise and teal background, its fingers stained red with blood. Derek wondered how much Stiles was _really_ coping.

“They’re very-”

“I know,” Stiles interrupted, “But it helps. As long as it’s _on_ the canvas, it’s not _inside_ me.”

He picked up a plastic palette then, smeared with colours that mirrored those on the unfinished canvas, and Derek leaned back in Stiles’ desk-chair, watching him as he painted until the Sheriff came home.

“Derek,” he said, raising his eyebrows, although he didn’t seem _too_ surprised, “Joining us for dinner?”

“I-”

“He is,” Stiles answered, smirking as he got some plates out of the kitchen cupboards, setting them out on the table. Derek nudged Stiles in the ribs with his elbow, smiling back, and it felt easy to, so he let himself relax.

“Did you come to talk about my proposition?” the Sheriff asked, and Stiles looked up, confused, wide eyed – suddenly uneasy.

“Proposition?”

“We’ve been talking about me joining the force,” Derek explained, “After training, of course.”

“With _your_ legal record?” Stiles asked, jokingly.

“Mysteriously disappeared,” the Sheriff shrugged, “Derek’s got a clean record.”

“I wonder how that happened,” Stiles said pointedly, and his father raised an eyebrow, a gesture that had something very distinctly _Stilinski_ about it.

“You know, if I had been in the loop about everything from the very beginning, there wouldn’t have _been_ a record to clear in the first place.”

Stiles fell silent and picked up a fork, starting to dish out his Chinese food. He gave Derek a slight side-eye, leaning closer to him.

“You’d make a good cop.”

“That’s what I said,” the Sheriff muttered, and Derek smiled down at his own plate, feeling like he may have found his _own_ coping mechanism.

 

 

# 3.

“What are you _doing_?”

Stiles yelped, simultaneously almost dropping his cigarette and almost falling right out of the window. He’d already been precariously balanced on the sill.

“What- What am _I_ doing, what are you- we have a door!” he spluttered indignantly, “You _use_ it ocassionally!”

“Since when do you smoke?”

Stiles looked down at his hand, the cigarette balanced between two long, slender fingers, and shrugged as he lazily lifted it to his mouth.

“Since I turned eighteen. Why?”

Stiles had been smoking for over a year, and Derek hadn’t even _noticed_. He sat down on the roof, leaning his head back against the brick of the house with a sigh.

“We’re friends. It’s bad for your health.”

“No shit,” Stiles laughed, flicking away some ash, “But, I don’t know. It’s relaxing.”

“Is that… _mint_?”

“Menthol,” Stiles laughed on an exhale, and Derek watched the wisps of smoke float away into the night air, “Which weirdly helps with hiding it from my dad. And you, apparently. I thought you knew.”

“I apparently don’t pay enough attention.”

Stiles reached down with an elegant hand and placed it in Derek’s hair gently, curling his fingers into it. Derek leaned into the touch.

“How is training going?”

“Fine. It’s not hard.”

“You want a smoke?”

“Nah,” Derek said.

“You want to come in?” Stiles pulled his legs inside the window without waiting for an answer, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette and flicking it into the gutter. “Dad’s home, so go knock on the door like a normal human being, okay?”

The window slid shut, the blinds clicking back into place as Derek climbed back down onto the front lawn, and then knocked on the front door. Stiles swung it open a moment later.

“Derek!” He announced loudly, grinning, “ _What_ a surprise!”

Derek rolled his eyes and stepped inside, laughing softly. Stiles stuck his head into the dining room where the Sheriff was looking over some case files. Derek recognised the files, but he wanted to see Stiles, and knew he would get distracted if he did anything more than regard Stiles’ father with just a nod and a mumbled, “Sir.”

“Derek,” he acknowledged, without lifting his head.

“We’re gonna play Xbox in the basement.”

“Be good.”

Stiles used the distraction to snag a couple of beers from the fridge, which Derek took from him, putting one back.

“Hey,” Stiles scowled.

“Officer in training,” Derek said, pointing to himself, and then to Stiles, “Nineteen.”

“Ah, but I’m an old soul,” Stiles muttered as he opened the door to the basement, and Derek snorted.

Stiles flipped on the lights of the room he had converted way back when, long before Scott had been bitten. He set up the television and the console, dropping down heavily onto the couch as Derek opened his beer and then wordlessly passed it to Stiles.

Stiles took it with a confused look before kneeling up with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, that was totally an act for my dad, you big loser,” he gasped, punching Derek in the bicep, “I love you. You’re officially my Valentine.”

Derek let Stiles pick the game – “Mario Kart, man!” – leaning back into the old sunken couch.

“Are you going to quit smoking now that I know?”

“No.”

“I could tell your dad.”

“But I know you won’t,” Stiles said softly, “Because we’re friends.”

Derek didn’t ask again, but he did find Stiles looking at him strangely throughout the game. Even while distracted, Stiles kicked his ass on Rainbow Road.

 

 

# 4.

Derek was getting ready to leave the station for the night, giving Stacey at the desk a sleepy wave as he slid on his jacket, when he noticed _Stiles_ , curled up in a chair in the corner behind her, a large swathe of wool in his lap and knitting needles in his hands.

He looked tired but focused, head down as his hands worked quickly, methodically, almost like Stiles wasn’t even controlling them. It was a kind of finesse Derek never thought he’d associate with Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek said softly, leaning over the desk, “What are you doing?”

Stiles looked up, surprised, and lifted both hands to his cover his mouth (needles and yarn attached) as he yawned.

“Knitting?” he said, raising an eyebrow, “Oh, you mean, _here_?”

Derek nodded, “The knitting too, but yeah. It’s nearly 2am.”

“My Jeep broke down but Dad says he’ll drop me home on his break, so I’m waiting until 2:45. I’m also knitting a… I think it’s a shawl for Lydia but I kind of went into sleep mode so...”

He held up the long stretch of aubergine coloured wool and inspected the pattern he’d been knitting.

“Hey cool, look at that, I can sleep knit.”

Derek didn’t really know what to say, taking in Stiles’ lethargic laughter, his soft smile as he looked up with wide, doe eyes. He sighed and leaned down on his elbows on the desk.

“I’ll give you a ride home now, if you want. I’m leaving for the night.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, sitting upright. Derek nodded, slapping the desk as he pushed away from it.

“C’mon.”

Derek didn’t miss the scowl Stacey sent in Stiles’ direction as he pulled on his jacket, and those fingerless gloves he seemed so fond of lately. It was April, but it was cold out.

“Night, Stacey,” he said to her.

“Good night Deputy Hale,” she replied stiffly, “Stiles.”

“See ya, Stace. Let my dad know I’m gone with Derek, will you?” Stiles asked happily, stuffing his knitting into his messenger bag, which he slung over his shoulder as he followed Derek out, sticking close to his side. Once out in the parking lot, Stiles chuckled to himself, “Did you see that? She’s jealous. I’m going home with _a hottie_.”

Derek laughed and unlocked his car, and Stiles smiled at him over the roof of the sensible Lexus, before ducking into the passenger seat.

“Did you just call me a _hottie_?”

“I did. But I’ve been awake since 7am, so don’t take it too seriously.”

“I’m taking it very seriously.”

“Well, that’s-” Stiles swallowed thickly as Derek started the engine, “-okay.”

After a minute, Derek said, “But, you knit?”

“I’m a _pro_ at knitting,” Stiles murmured, slinking down in his seat, “These gloves? I made ‘em.”

“Are you ever going to finish them,” Derek asked dryly, smirking.

“Whoa, alright wise guy. It’s so I can use my phone without taking them off.”

“You can buy gloves _with_ fingers that do that.”

“Can you shut up and just admire my knitting skills?” Stiles laughed, giving him a shove, “Isaac thought they were awesome. I knitted him a pair. And a scarf.”

“Like Isaac needs more scarves.”

Stiles giggled himself to sleep against the window, until Derek woke him twenty minutes later outside the Stilinski house. Derek walked him from the sidewalk to the door.

“It’s my birthday this weekend; we’re having a party at Lydia’s house. You’ll show, won’t you?”

Derek thought about it, “I’m working Saturday night.”

“Stop by after your shift, then. Derek, dude, c’mon. Birthday. _Mine_ ,” Stiles leaned heavily against the door, his head lolling back lazily. One look at his long, pale, neck, and Derek was glad it wasn’t close to full moon. The urge to put his mouth there was strong enough as it was.

“Stiles.”

“I’ll knit you a hat,” he murmured, “one with earflaps.”

Derek laughed, lowering his head a little to look at his feet – and Stiles reached out with both hands, pinching Derek’s earlobes, rubbing his thumbs up and over the outer shells.

“Wow, even your ears don’t get cold.”

Derek laughed and looked up again, the tips of Stiles’ fingers brushing his neck as they fell to his shoulders.

“Please,” Stiles said, quietly, and Derek could count the number of times Stiles had said that word to him on one hand. So he caved.

“Okay, sure. Fine. I’ll stop by on my way home.”

Stiles made a funny noise in his throat, dragging Derek in by his shoulders for a hug, that lasted just a tad too long when Derek decided to hug him back, sinking into the embrace.

Stiles unlocked the door and shouldered his way inside as Derek made his way back to his car.

“I’ll knit you that hat!” he called, and Derek sat in the car and waited outside until he heard Stiles locking all the doors and tramping up the stairs.

•

Most of the pack had come home for Stiles’ 20th, stopping in with Derek for a chat before moving on to prepare for the party that night. From what Derek had heard, it was a Stilinski-Martin collaboration, and any sort of event that was planned with that level of organisation and social standing was really something worth attending.

Derek checked the patrol routes that night and noticed than there were none that passed through Lydia’s neighbourhood, and he smiled to himself, knowing Stiles probably had something to do with that.

It was late that night when he finished his shift, nearly 1am, and Derek changed out of his uniform and into a sweater and jeans before leaving.

“Going somewhere?” Stacey asked brightly.

“Stopping by a birthday party before I go home,” Derek smiled as he clocked out. Stacey’s face fell.

“Oh. Stiles’ party?”

Derek nodded, “Yep,” and she didn’t say anything after that, just glared.

He had to park two streets away from the party because of the excess of cars, and sure enough the place was packed when he got there. Derek weaved through the house, spotting familiar faces along the way. Scott and Isaac danced near the pool, Lydia wedged between them and laughing. Allison and Danny were drinking by the punchbowl. A few people startled upon seeing him _(“Deputy Hale!” “Just Derek tonight, actually.”_ ) but most smiled and waved. Four years ago, the place might have cleared the minute he showed up.

Stiles, in dark jeans and bold red plaid shirt, was talking to a pretty brunette against a pillar, a red solo cup in his hand. He looked conversational, casual, but his posture was intimate as he rested his forearm above her head.

Then he spotted Derek, and excused himself. The girl pouted for a moment, but then hugged him and disappeared into the crowd. Stiles took her place, his back against the pillar, and grinned  brightly.

“How much have you drank?” Derek asked, once he got close enough.

“Very,” Stiles replied, swaying slightly.

“Great,” Derek nodded, “You’re lucky I’m off duty.”

Stiles laughed and straightened up, “I’m just kidding. I’ve had like two beers, everything is good.”

“Only two?” Derek asked, looking into Stiles’ cup. The liquid inside was clear.

“Oh. _This_ is vodka. My first of the night.”

“There’s going to be more vodkas.”

“Duh,” Stiles leaned forward, slinging and arm around Derek’s shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll set up some extra-special shots for you and you can catch up with me.”

Derek shook his head, “I drove here, and I’m not doing any sort of special shots. I’ll have a regular beer though.”

“Spoil sport,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Follow me.”

Derek _did_ follow him, into the kitchen to grab a beer from the cooler. He uncapped it, swallowed down a few gulps, and then said, “Do you want your present now or will I wait until tomorrow?”

“Now, definitely now,” Stiles said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Bad idea, but Derek went through with it anyway, following him up the stairs and – into Lydia’s bedroom.

“You sure we’re allowed in here?”

“Lydia gave me-and-only-me explicit permission to use her room,” Stiles said, grinning. “She probably meant for sex, but, y’know. _That’s_ not going to happen.”

Derek had to bite his tongue as Stiles sat down on the bed, loose and happy with his few drinks flowing through his system.

 “Okay, c’mon, gimme,” he said, making grabby hands, grinning. Derek reached inside his jacket pulling out a small, soft parcel before handing it over and sitting down next to Stiles. He lazed back on the bed, leaning on his elbow as Stiles took apart the wrapping paper, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves.

“Derek…” he murmured, looking at them a little dazedly.

“They have fingers,” Derek said, and Stiles barked out a laugh, slapping Derek with one of the gloves.

“Fucker! Thank you, I love them.”

“Put them on,” Derek said, and Stiles complied easily, slipping one hand into the leather, and starting to pull the other one on, when he paused, giving Derek a funny look.

He pulled his hand out again, this time holding a chain, with silver dog tags hanging from it.

“What-” he flipped them over in his hands, the first one engraved with his name, date of birth, the usual things. The other two were different, symbols carved into them on either sides. An anatomical heart, a skull, an arrow, a moon. “What,” he said again, a little more breathless the second time.

“It’s you.” Derek explained, “And it’s- heart and brains and skill and dependability.”

Stiles breath left him in one loud rush, and his fingers curled tightly into the chain of the dog tags. Then he slipped it over his head and tucked it underneath his shirt, and pushed his fingers against his chest where it would press into his skin. Stiles turned his head slightly, looking back at where Derek was lounging back on his elbow.

Derek made to sit up, just as Stiles surged down towards him, mouths meeting in the middle. Derek barely hesitated before reaching up and slipping his hand into Stiles’ hair, kissing him back fiercely. Stiles’ lips opened, Derek’s tongue fucking into his mouth as Stiles rumbled lowly, pushed Derek back onto the bed and straddled his thighs. The tags slid out of his shirt, the cold metal slipping down against Derek’s throat.

Derek’s hand slid down Stiles’ back, into his back pocket, and Stiles rocked forward about a foot and a half, laughing as Derek squeezed gently.

“Mmm, god, this is not how I expected this would go,” Stiles murmured. “I’m really going to have to knit you that hat now.”

 

 

# 5.

After the weekend ended, the pack split again to go back to school for Monday, except Lydia who didn’t have class until Wednesday. Derek didn’t see much of Stiles for that Sunday-Monday-Tuesday, Lydia making it very clear she laid claim to him when she returned home from Boston, because it wasn’t often that they got to hang out together.

There might have been a time where Stiles spending time with Lydia would have inspired a fierce kind of jealousy in Derek, but he knew better than that. They were more like partners in crime now.

Finally, on Wednesday night, Stiles came knocking at Derek’s door. He was wearing a long dark coat, scarf, the gloves Derek gave him for his birthday, face flushed in the Spring cold.

“Hi,” Derek said, a little dazed, and Stiles pushed in through the door, shuddering as he pulled off his gloves.

“Werewolves run hotter than regulars, right?” Stiles asked, rushing forth and pushing his cool hands under Derek’s t-shirt, “Yeah, good.”

Derek managed to reach out and shut the door before he backed Stiles up against it.

“Unbutton my jacket for me, my hands are cold, I don’t wanna stop touching you yet,” Stiles murmured, and Derek groaned a little, quiet as he fumbled with the buttons of Stiles’ coat, and pushed it down his shoulders. Stiles removed one hand at a time to get his arms out of the coat, never having less than one palm against Derek’s chest under his shirt. “Fuck, I just really like touching you. I can do this now, right? Well, too late.”

“Hi,” Derek said again.

“Hi,” Stiles returned, a little lower this time, biting his lip, and Derek just could _not_ , “I missed you. But Lydia-”

“I know. Let’s not talk about her.”

“Deal,” Stiles breathed, “I wanna take my clothes off now.”

“Fuck, okay,” Derek huffed out, “You’re gonna have to take your hands off me.”

“That’s crazy,” Stiles laughed, “Now I’ve got you I’m never gonna want to let go.”

Derek stilled, looking at Stiles with a surprised expression, and Stiles’ face fell slightly.

“Well that was more intense sounding than I had planned.”

“Well,” he exhaled, getting his hands on Stiles’ waist, “We have been dancing around this for four years, I guess intense is expected.”

“Here’s something intense,” Stiles murmured, leaning back a little, “I’m a twenty-year old virgin.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment, Stiles’ heartbeat a little jerky and nervous as he bit his lip.

“I’m a unicorn,” Stiles said, and Derek burst out laughing, head falling back as Stiles snuggled into him.

“You’re incredible,” he said, and received a soft, open-mouthed kiss in response, Stiles getting a hand in his hair and tugging until he groaned, “Do you want to?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “With you? Yes. Of course. I think yes. Definitely with the yes.”

“Alright, Bartok.”

“If you’re trying to get me into bed, please don’t compare me to a cartoon Russian bat.”

“Noted.”

There was no more conversing after that, thankfully, just Stiles leading the way to the bedroom. It was like he knew the route by heart, like the back of his hand, despite having only been there once before. Derek remembered sobbing and gauze and Stiles’ skin just few shades paler than usual, and his bathroom and bed-sheets had smelled like blood for days no matter how much bleach he used, no matter how many times he changed the linen. He hoped this time he’d be less reluctant to banish the scent of Stiles on every surface he touched.

Stiles, finally detaching himself from Derek, slunk back onto the mattress.

(Okay, maybe there was _some_ conversing.

“How do you want to… do you-?”

“I really _need you_ to fuck me, Derek. I’ve been thinking about it-”

“Christ, okay. But next time…”

“Really?”

“I want to-- _Stiles_.”

“Use your words.”

“I want to feel you. I want you to fuck me.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , okay, no more words. No more using of the words. Shut up.”

And then there was silence again.)

Derek was used to the look on people’s faces when he took off his clothes for them, and it was something that occasionally bothered him. Sure, it made picking up easy, to look the way he did. But if anything, it made relationships difficult.

Stiles looking at him, he didn’t mind that.

Stiles undid Derek’s belt, his jeans, as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head, dropping it by their feet as Stiles used the belt loops to pull Derek forth, standing between his knees.

“Just wanna-” the sentence drifted there as Stiles got Derek’s jeans, his briefs down around his thighs and his mouth just _opened_. Wide, bright eyes flickered up, asking, Derek nodding, Stiles then suddenly sucking him to full hardness and- _Christ_ , his _mouth_.

Twenty year old virgin, _right_.

Derek pulled him off after a few moments, knowing if he watched too long (eyelashes, cheekbones, lips, everything) he would get lost, he would lose it altogether. Stiles looked, as he leaned back on the bed, as if the lack of Derek’s cock in his mouth was a complete loss to him, and kept on frowning until Derek got a hand on his jeans.

The undressing was a little awkward. Shoes clattering to the floor, belts, denim, change rolling from pockets across the hardwood floor. The noise was only cut by Stiles’ laughter, which was then quashed by Derek’s mouth. Stiles arched up, eventually took three fingers inside him almost easily, and Derek vowed that next time he felt patient enough he would make Stiles come just like that, just his fingers inside him.

Derek felt his shoulder-blade sting as Stiles’ nails cut into it, silently fuming, something Stilesian like _put your dick in me, for fuck’s sake Derek_ , until the hand gripping him went slack, and then vice-tight again as Derek pushed until him, slick and smooth in one thrust.

It didn’t last very long, Stiles rocking up against him to find that perfect angle, Derek nailing it repeatedly once he found it – and Stiles had been on a hair trigger already, shaking apart as his heels dug into the back of Derek’s thighs. Derek came with Stiles’ fingers in his hair, thighs vice around his hip, their mouths together.

Stiles pushed him against the tile of the shower afterwards, spread the cheeks of his ass apart and licked a long stripe from his balls up, until Derek whined. Made him come again like that. It was wonderful. Anything Stiles could do to him with his mouth was wonderful.

•

Stiles decided to try to quit smoking.

 

 

# +1.

“I’ve been accepted into NYU,” Stiles said quietly, and the Sheriff stopped flipping pancakes long enough to hear Derek stop typing on his laptop.

“That’s fantastic, Stiles!” he cried, putting the spatula down and clapping his son on the back, whose hands were unsteady as he held up his letter of acceptance. Derek grinned.

“Told you. We all told you.”

“I-” Stiles started, and then fell silent. Unusual, for him, but Derek put it down to shock. “Yeah.”

Stiles ate his breakfast in an uncharacteristic silence, while his father chattered away to him, with the all-too-familiar unease Derek had come to know drifting off him in waves. Or tsunamis.

The Sheriff left after breakfast, and Stiles busied himself with the dishes at the sink.

“NYU is amazing,” Derek said, “And you’ll be with Allison. Closer to Lydia than you are now-”

“I don’t-” Stiles dropped the pan into the sink with a splash, “Why should I even go. I’m happy here, you know? I took the year off because I wasn’t ready. And I’m still- I still don’t feel _ready_ to leave what I have here.”

“Your dad has Melissa to keep him in check, Stiles, he’s wants this for you-”

“Don’t be dense, Derek, you know I’m talking about you too.”

Derek stood up as he drained the last of his coffee. He plunked it in the sink and leaned against the counter next to Stiles.

“Okay, spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill, I don’t want to leave.”

“You don’t want to further your education?”

“That’s not- I don’t want to leave here. This is my home. Beacon Hills is where I belong, where I fit.”

“Stiles, I’m not saying you have change puzzle, I’m just saying... take your piece out for a while. Life isn’t supposed to be this big, full, clear picture all the time. You should travel, get away. You’re only twenty-”

“Yeah, I’m _only_ _twenty_ , you big dumb philosophical asshole,” Stiles slammed his palms down against the steel sink, “And somehow I still ended up with you. I’m kid, and I still get you. And who knows _who_ you’ll meet while I’m gone and you’ll  _realize_  that I’m just a kid,  I'll be hundreds of miles away and damaged and not worth the effort. I’m just twenty, I don’t know _shit_ yet and-”

Derek tilted his head down at his feet and sighed, and suddenly Stiles cut himself off mid rant, fists curling in the dishcloth.

“You’re not a kid, Stiles, we both know that. I can'r believe you think a little distance and a couple years age difference is going to make me forget about you. About everything we’ve done.”

“You read that on the back of a Kraft box?” Stiles muttered, and Derek snorted.

“It’s cheesy but you _know_ it’s the truth. I never cared about your age, Stiles. I never- You are not and never will be just some dumb kid. Four years, I’ve wanted you-”

“Yeah, and four years I’ve _loved_ you,” Stiles spluttered, “But I can’t tell you that, because one stupid fucking word is going to make no difference when I’m in New York and you’re here.”

Derek froze mid neck-roll, snapping to attention, “You…”

“Yes. I love you. There. Boom. Big revelation. I feel stupid.”

Derek reached over to pull Stiles’ hands out of the suds in the sink, to run the towel over his knuckles.

“You know I love you too.”

“They’re just words, Derek.”

“Don’t I _show_ you?”

“Yes. Of course. But.”

“ _God_. I wear the stupid hat you made me. I take you for breakfast in morning when I can. I drive you all the way to LA to see Scott and Isaac. I do so much stupid stuff for you because I love you.”

“But when you’re not there to do those stupid things, they’re _just words_ , Derek.”

Derek softly let go of Stiles’ hands, folding them over his chest as Stiles went about finishing the dishes in silence. Derek found a crack in the kitchen tile to focus on, drowning out all the noise around him, hearing nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, and Stiles’ frantic heart and unsteady breaths.

“The thing is, Stiles,” he said, his own words sounding muffled, like he was underwater listening to himself just above the surface, “I know you. And I know when you said that, that you loved me, that it wasn’t just words, okay? Because you’re you, and you’re crazy, and you love with not just your entire heart, but your entire being. And you put all of yourself into this relationship. Don’t you.”

“Obviously,” Stiles muttered, finished washing up, but just standing, staring dully out the window into his back yard. _That’s why this argument started,_ he didn't have to add.

“We have that in common. I know that better than anyone.”

Stiles’ shoulders squared as he turned his head towards Derek, and Derek let stare right back. Something in Stiles' expression seemed to settle, his hackles lowering in acceptance.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to find another you. No one could come close,” Derek said.

Stiles swallowed dryly, and nodded his head, resigned.

“I’ll think about NYU.”

“We can fly over there some time in the next few weeks and have a look around. Meet Allison or something.”

Stiles nodded, the vestiges of a smile on his lips as he rubbed at his shoulder nervously. “Okay,” he mumbled, scratching his cheek, “I’m going to shower and I might paint. You’ll be late for work.”

Derek nodded and stood. He’d been so caught up in their almost-argument that he’d forgotten the time.

“I should go. Work. I’ll see you tonight.”

Stiles just hummed as Derek kissed his temple and left.

•

“I’ll go,” Stiles said that night in Derek’s apartment, “It’s the best offer I have. And Allison says it’s great. And.”

“And…?” Derek asked.

“And I trust you.” Stiles said.

Flush together in the dark, beneath the sheets, Derek tilted his head back, caught Stiles’ lips with his, murmured, “Love you too.”


End file.
